


The Kill Order

by Gryff_inTheGame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Horror, Angst, Dark, Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Survival Horror, Thriller, Torture, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-13 06:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryff_inTheGame/pseuds/Gryff_inTheGame
Summary: The Minister for Magic has sanctioned a kill order in an attempt to purify bloodlines and purge the Wizarding world of dirty blood.The resistance have orders too. Kill or be killed.No copyright infringement intended by using the title “The Kill Order.”(I came up with the whole plot line to this without knowing it's the title of an actual book ‘The Kill Order’ in the Mazerunner series by James Dashner. I don't wish to change the name because the name itself is centered around my entire plot, just declaring I'm not stealing it.)JK Rowling owns. The plot is mine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Welcome to the beginning of the end ;) Firstly, this story is centered around dark themes. Triggers include, but are not limited to:  
> Multiple deaths, war, possible rape and torture, violence, foul language and smut. Ron-bashing is possible. This is a Voldemort wins au! “Alternative universe” can mean some characters may or may not come across as OOC. If this squicks you out and you don’t like that, I suggest you press that little x button at the top of the screen instead of trolling me about it. This is my only warning for triggering content, unless I add more, because I feel that it ruins the story by giving constant warnings each chapter. I'll be adding more characters. I’m at the mercy of my muse so I don’t always know where she’s going to take me. What I write sometimes surprises me as much as it does you. If you are familiar with my works you’ll know I enjoy thinking outside the box, in fact, a lot of my content is original. Anything written in this story that isn’t canon is most likely made up by me unless I’ve stated otherwise, in which, I will always touch base with another writer if something unique of theirs has inspired me, and it will be noted in said chapter. 
> 
> This is a Dramione fic, however, if you don't like Romione you should avoid it because it exists in my fic. 
> 
> I do not wish to have any of my original elements recreated in any way without my permission. If I’ve inspired you and you’d like to talk to me about it, you can contact me on FB @Gryff_inthegame or via Tumblr @gryff-in-the-game.
> 
> If any of the above material is triggering to you, then please avoid reading. I apologise for the long A/N but it was necessary.
> 
> I’d like to give special thanks to one of my lovely Beta’s “Sandra-Sempra” for beta-ing this for me and pushing me to become the best I can be. You're amazing!
> 
> Without further adew, all aboard the GiTG express to a destination unknown. If you like my story I would love to know and the best way to do that is to leave a review (if you find it worthy) or come say hello (as stated above) on my FB or Tumblr ;)
> 
> GiTG X

* * *

 

_Hermione gripped the side of her stomach where muscles spasm in her diaphragm. The stabbing pain below her rib cage was so intense she wasn’t sure if she lacked fitness, or had simply overexerted herself trying to get back to their hideout in shock of her discovery. She had been gathering intel in Diagon Alley when the title of the Daily Prophet caught her eye._

 

* * *

 

**Proclamation.**

**Minister for Magic Decree No.1**

Dolores Jane Umbridge hereby declares “An Order to Kill.”

The Kill Order is effective immediately, in which, all witches and wizards are required to help purge the community of dirty blood. This includes, but is not limited to: muggleborns and half-breeds. If in doubt, please contact the head of “Muggleborn and Half-breed Affairs Office” as headed by Rabastan Lestrange. All deaths must be accounted for — viable proof is needed. One-hundred galleons will be funded, per-body, as a reward for your help towards purifying the community. In an act of good faith, if you require hunting gear, you may collect it from the Hunting for Sport Commissions Office as headed by Marcus Flint.

All will be subject to raids in order to provide proof of heritage and be subject to undergoing questioning under Veritaserum. Further methods may be used and will not be opposed by order of the Minister for Magic. Anyone who refuses, flees or hides fugitives, shall be held in contempt until either a trial is arranged or death be made imminent by order of the Wizengamot or higher.     

Your cooperation in this matter is of the utmost importance —

Dolores Jane Umbridge, Minister for Magic

 

* * *

 

Hermione clutches the Prophet with a grip so tight the pages ripple, scrunching under the force of it. She’s squeezing so firmly her knuckles are white and the fist she's formed around it gives her the urge to punch anything, everything or anyone within reach that dares to speak to her. Yeah, they don't know yet, but she needs time to process it. Time to formulate a plan to figure out what to do next or how to put a stop to this. At first, their only problem was Voldemort winning the war. Now that he's appointed Umbridge as Minister for Magic, well.... Shit’s just become a whole lot more complicated _— especially_ for her.

Walking through the disillusionment charm hiding their camp, Hermione storms directly past the welcoming, crackling campfire - ignoring the roaring laughter exploding from her friends surrounding it. It bothers her they can have these airy, untroubled moments, acting like this is how things are supposed to be. What pisses her off even more is how they credulously disregard the reality of the truth without a single care while she suffers, carrying the weight of the past and future responsibilities on her shoulders like a second skin. Hermione suppresses a shiver at the thought while her hands slide up her arms, fingers curling over her elbows, working to warm the chills running through her soul. She resents her friends and her body betrays her mind because she should know better. Is this what she's really become? An uptight war heroine incapable of having fun? Hermione scrunches her face in disgust while she mentally scolds herself for being jealous of her peers social skills and coping abilities. They were clearly far more advanced than her own, or they've just gotten better at hiding their woes.  
  
Veering straight into the tent she shares with Ginny, she's grateful to have their accommodation to herself for the moment. Although serenity won’t last long, considering she just waltzed right past everyone without so much as a _hello_ , clinging to a newspaper with a murderous glint in her eyes.

Hermione kicks off her shoes, flicking her wand to seal the tent from anyone wanting to enter. They never respect her need for reflection, so there's no doubt she won't be alone with her thoughts long - no matter how destructive they are - getting the peace and quiet to brew such ideas is impossible.

Not destructive towards her, no. Destructive towards Voldemort for winning the fucking war and appointing Umbridge the _fucking_ Minister. Destructive of the fact she knows what this means of her little freedom. As if she doesn't _already_ feel leashed and sheltered, now she’s going to have to fight her friends just to go on missions. Hermione is not the kind of girl to sit around waiting for her friends to be killed. She wants to be there alongside her friends, fighting for their freedom. If her friends are going to die, she wants to die trying to save them. She wants to be scarred like her friends are - as stupid as it sounds - so their friendships are bound by more than mere distant memories and fragments of a derailed past. Each unique friendship will be deeply ingrained; their battles and triumphs at the core of it all. She may be jealous of their carefree approach to life and resent them for that fact, but one thing for certain is she will do _anything_ for her friends. Going against the grain of a stereotypical Gryffindor, she'll even kill to keep them safe.

That is, _if_ they live to see the future. Judging by the announcement in the Daily Prophet sprawled open in front of her, with that witch smirking mercilessly, a satisfied gleam in her eyes, the world they once knew has become a whole lot more dangerous and sick. Hermione is about to explode out of frustration.

Staring at the heading of the new declaration, darting between the article to the face of her ex Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and back, causes her face to burn with rage as she combs the fine print, using her fingers as a guide to read it. Grunting loudly in exasperation before picking up the newspaper and throwing it to the floor, its pages separate, drifting in different directions around the “lounge room” of her tent.

“Hermione,” says Ron through the fabric of the tent door.

“Go away,” shouts Hermione forcefully, not in the mood to give him the emotional support he’s so desperate for.

“Come on, just let me in. Talk to me about whatever it is that's got you all stroppy.” There is desperation in his tone. The last thing he wants is to be pushed further away from her when he's trying so hard to give her what he thinks she wants. What he doesn't realize is, he fails to see what she needs.

“I'm not _stroppy,_  Ronald. I just need some time to think in peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask for?”

Ron resists, refusing to be pushed away again.

“I won't go away until you let me in.”

“You’ll have to _eat_ eventually,” shes states point blank.

“Come on, Mione, I'm supposed to be your boyfriend. Let me in!” He doesn’t want to start an argument, and if he’s honest with himself he’s terrified of losing her… He just wants her to include him and trust him more.

 

* * *

 

Hermione huffs in exasperation. She wasn't aware of the time they became a couple, but they'd been sleeping together since they lost the war. Somewhere in between the fallout, they became an item without making it _official._ Perhaps it’s a coping mechanism: they both needed someone, or something, and used each other to fill the void. No. She had cared in the past but things have changed. She doesn't doubt what he feels for her is genuine, despite her being so hard to love. If she's honest with herself, the last thing she wants to entertain is falling in love and maintaining a relationship. All they are trying to do is survive, and Hermione's priority is finding a way to destroy Voldemort and keep her friends safe. She values this more than her own self-preservation. Why would she feel worthy of giving love when she struggles with the notion of _taking_ it.

Hermione waves her wand gratingly, allowing him to enter the tent. She can't stand his grovelling. He walks in nervously only to discover the Prophet strewn across the floor. Stumbling back, he hesitantly reaches down, snatching its pages abruptly with uncertainty. His eyes widen with horror as he scans the bold print on the front page.

“Bloody Hell, you've got to be kidding me!” screeches Ron, hands shaking in anger.

Hermione feels guilty for not wanting to confide in him, but she isn't in the mood to explain. Their friendship has grown sour since they started sleeping together; if it's because of him or just her she doesn’t know, but regardless, she finds herself being more short with him, frustrated by him being around. Looking into his eyes, she sees her childhood crush staring back at her. In her heart she feels nothing but convenience and resentment. She doesn’t blame him for anything, but she resents him for caring about her, and wanting more from her than she’s ever prepared to give.

Before Hermione can respond, Harry and Ginny enter the tent. Evidence of her turbulent behaviour is obvious in her silence.

“Hermione, what happened out there?” asks Harry with concern. His forehead wrinkles to form worry lines while his eyes appear to convey questions of their own in a simple glance. They are somewhat kindred spirits, Harry and Hermione. He understands her far better than Ron does. With her obvious silence he understands they need to talk - _alone_.

Harry nods subtly in recognition to Hermione before addressing the others.

“Ron, Ginny… Can you give us a minute?”

Ginny agrees with disappointment, hating the fact she is being asked to leave. Ron glares at his mate, wondering why he can't get his own girlfriend to talk to him, but is able to open up to Harry with ease. He's made it obvious to Hermione on several occasions their friendship bothers him, knowing he has no right to dictate who she can and can't be friends with.

Especially since they'd been friends for so long before he caught feelings for her, but it doesn't make it any easier. He can't help it. Ron can feel her trying to pull away, and it only makes him want to cling to her all the more. Love, _desperation_ …it all makes you do crazy things. He hesitantly leaves, following Ginny back towards the fire.

 

* * *

 

Harry begins pacing around the tent.

“I don't know why you won't talk to him about it and it's none of my business, but you can't string him along, Hermione.”

_Great._ She thinks to herself. _Just what I need right now, a lecture._ Hermione bites her lip for a moment as if to indicate she is thinking carefully about her response, but it's that _and_ a combination of her nerves at the topic of conversation.

"I'm not trying to, Harry. Things have just gotten out of hand.”

“He needs to know the truth. Doesn't he deserve that much?”

She sighs at the realisation.

“He does. I-I thought I'd been making it obvious… I don't want to hurt him, Harry.”

Harry stops in front of her, turning to sit down beside her.

“What you're doing to him _now_ is hurting him, Hermione. In case you haven't noticed, your current approach isn't working.”

Turning towards him, Hermione admits it. “You're right… I know. I'll think of something - I promise… In the meantime, we have bigger problems, Harry.”

His eyes give Hermione a flash of concern. Motioning with his hands for her to continue, she recounts how she came in possession of the Daily Prophet before pointing to the front page. With shaky hands, Harry leans forward, picking it up to read its crinkled pages. His eyes skim the heading immediately before he reacts, his fists balling up around the now crumpled paper at the news.

“Fuck. Is this real?” questions Harry. “Umbridge for Minister for Magic,” he mutters in disbelief.

“It's true. Read the article.” The clear, harsh tone of her voice is an obvious indicator there's more to this madness.

Harry nods, treating the prophet as though it's pages are about to combust. As soon as he finishes, his face contorts into one of anger, shock and confusion.

“They - She can't be serious?”

Hermione stands abruptly, letting the fire inside her burn in fierce flames. The lioness in her chest is enraged; a caged creature incandescent with heat. The loyal beast rising in anger sparked a blaze of fury in her, and her mind works quickly to respond.

“It is, Harry. I apparated to the Ministry and lingered long enough to see Death Eaters planning, _preparing_ … It looks like this has been on the cards for some time. They have access to documents - everything they need is there. We need to make it harder for them and we need to act _now._ ”

Harry stands, leveling with her.

“Hermione, this changes everything,” he argues. His voice is full of emotion but he does his best to control it. “I can't just send people out unprepared - to die. We need to gather more intel. If everyone's lives are at risk, we need to plan this better than ever before.”

She reaches for his arm as he begins to pace; the action stops him instantly.

“Purebloods and half-bloods are okay, but I wouldn't trust it for one second if they came across a blood-traitor such as Ron. They won't hesitate to kill him.”

“So what do you propose? A bloody suicide mission? I can't sacrifice people, Hermione. We've lost so many already. I won't do that.”

“Not a suicide mission, no.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Let's break into the Ministry and destroy whatever documents they have - _tonight.”_

“That won't stop the Kill Order.”

“No, it won't. But it can stall them. By destroying the paper trail, we can have one up on them; snoop around. It's the best plan we have. We can blow it up.”

“Blow up the Ministry?” He questions her, looking perplexed, obviously unsure if she really means it.

“Yes,” deadpans Hermione.

“You're serious aren't you?”

“I am.”

“Fine. Draft up some maps of the Ministry. I'll prepare a team.”

“Okay,” agrees Hermione, eager to start on the maps. Before they exit the tent Harry stops her.

“Hermione.”

He said her name with caution, and she knows straight away what he's about to say. She stops, but doesn't turn to face him. "What?"

“You know I can't let you come, right?” Harry sounds as though he is about to try and negotiate some sort of deal. His confidence is surprising, considering their history. He's bonkers if he thinks she'll listen.

“Excuse me?”

“You're _muggleborn,_  Hermione. I can't risk you.”

At that, Hermione spins around, flustered and ready to fight him with words. There is no way she's staying behind; over her dead body.

“Why the hell not? Everyone else is a risk too.”

“That's different.”

“No it isn't, Harry! It's exactly the same!”

“You are a direct target now! It's bad enough you're known as my friend, but now there's a fucking _Kill Order_ , Hermione. I can't even imagine the kind of reward offered for your death. I can't lose you.”

“I can't lose _you_ ! You can't expect me to sit and wait around to see who comes back! I won't do that, I refuse! There's still a target on your back, Harry. On _anyone_ from the resistance. You need me.”

“I need you alive! You're staying. I'm sorry, but that's final.”

She's angry and he knows it. Harry reaches out in a desperate attempt to comfort her, but she flinches in retaliation. Her eyes wild with hostility, it's obvious she feels betrayed by his decision to make her stay.

Hermione swipes his hand away. “Don't.”

“Hermione, don -”

“ _Leave_! Harry. Make your damn plans. I'll make the maps.”

Harry remains in her personal space, clearly not taking her hint to leave. Scoffing, Hermione storms past him with the ambition of a Slytherin, looking as though she was trying to tear the whole tent down on her way out due to the way the flaps pull open, but she doesn't care. Behind her she hears Harry mutter a thank you without an ounce of suspicion in his voice. Her lips curl into a mischievous smirk as she walks away to draw up his maps and make plans of her own.

Hermione’s chest heaves as she huffs in exasperation. Stamping her feet in irritation, she makes her way to the entrance, tugging open the fabric door of the tent dramatically to signal the end of the conversation as she exits. While approaching the portable shelter used for planning tactics and execution, Hermione is interrupted by Ginny's sass, who appears to be lecturing Ron on a rather sensitive matter. Curiosity getting the better of her, she stays hidden in the shadows to listen.

 

* * *

 

“You have an emotional range of a teaspoon, even as an adult. Unless its food, sex or war related, you're not all that cluey on the needs of a witch, are you?” rebukes Ginny.

 

Hermione slaps a hand to her face to suppress the giggle that threatens to spill from her lips.

 

“What? Are you saying I need to be more emotional?” He asks, obviously confused by what his sister has said.

“Not exactly,” mutters Ginny, appearing to prepare giving him a lecture.

“You demand more from her than you’re prepared to give.”

 

Hermione doesn't like the sound of where this is going. If Ron isn't already hurting from her, his sister is about to.

 

Ginny continues on a rant, telling Ron exactly how it is.

“It’s _draining_ her. Look, Ron. Whatever you think you and Hermione have can't be further from the truth - it's the convenience of war, that's all. You're both damaged. You feel comfortable together so you _use_ each other. It's a perfectly normal habit, considering what's happened.” 

 

Hermione’s eyes are wide in shock at how real Ginny is being with him. Of course she is, without tact, being truthful… That is the way she is.

 

Ginny's honesty has _never_ been a trait Ron enjoyed. Her ability to cut through bullshit and tell it like it is leaves him feeling exposed and defensive. His body stiffens, showing evidence he's taking offense.

“It's _not_ convenience!”

“Sure it isn’t.”

“That's what I just said. I've loved her for ages. It just took me a while to realise it,” he confesses. 

 

Hermione bites her bottom lip, a nervous trait she has developed. She watches on, waiting for Ron to explode or Ginny to lose it, either way, someone is about to give.

Ginny rolls her eyes in frustration. She is younger than her brother, and clearly wiser.

"Love doesn't exist in times like this, Ron. Love is a weakness no one can afford to have. A harsh reality but, it's the truth.”

“That's not true. You and Harry love each other.”

Ginny displays a sarcastic twisted smirk as if deep in thought. Hermione knows Ginny thinks Harry doesn't love her. She believes if he did, he’d be with her no matter what. Hermione knows the truth, though. Harry loves Ginny more than anyone; she is his ultimate weakness. He's sacrificed being with her to protect her out of love.

Ginny is defiant in her denial of what she refuses to see as the truth. Ron's statement is a harsh reminder of the reality she's living. It's no dirty secret she's seeing Harry behind the scenes, but she can't let him go. She chooses to suffer, and is tormented by a fantasy she so desperately desires. Her face is as hard as stone, internally her heart is shattered - repairable only by the reciprocation of the love she has for the chosen one. Pushing aside her turmoil, Ginny begs to differ.  
  
“No, you've got it wrong. I take what I can get from him, but Harry can't have any more weaknesses. He's made that clear."

“Yet you are doing everything couples do? That makes no sense.”

“It's not supposed to make sense. It just is,” shouts Ginny, obviously upset by the sudden focus of the conversation now being on herself and Harry. “I don't have expectations, but I _do_ have needs, as does Harry.”

“Ew! I don’t want to know that!” Scoffs Ron with distaste.

 

Hermione shakes her head. He's always been a prat about his sister dating or kissing anyone. It comes as no surprise to her that he's disturbed by their conversation.

  

“When did you become so cold-hearted?” He asks, with a soft look as though he’s genuinely wanting to know.

Hermione can tell by the way Ginny’s eyes begin to water that she's trying to be strong. It’s obvious she’s holding back her emotions, despite spilling her honest thoughts on the subject.

 

Staring Ron directly in the eyes her voice cracks, breaking with the raw sting of her words. Her gaze shifts from him to the floor in defeat of revealing her vulnerabilities to him. Ginny stands in contumaciously, her frailty disguised by vacant body language, and she pauses with a stoic disposition. Turning to Ron, she divulges the truth as she see’s it.

“When I realised the world I grew up in no longer existed. When Death Eaters invaded Hogwarts and killed my brother, Tonks, Remus and everyone else I’ve known or _cared_ about. When Harry decided to reject me out of fear for my life to be noble.”

“I get what you're saying, I just can't be like that,” admits Ron while extending his hand to her arm, placing it above her elbow to comfort her. “I can’t sacrifice being with her. I _love_ her.”

Ginny's face hardens, clearly not considering the consequences of what she's about to say. Exhaling a deep breath, her candour shows lack of regret as she dispassionately expresses resentment of her and her brother’s situation.  
  
“Then it's going to hurt when she breaks your heart."

“Do you think she would really do that? She cared. In Hogwarts she really cared.”

“Hogwarts days are gone, Ron. The war has affected us all. She did care. But everything's _changed_ now. School crushes die hard. Hermione's too focused on setting the Wizarding world right to be entertaining the notion of love, let alone fall in it. She's far from foolish. I'm sorry, Ron. I just see the shades of grey. If you know her as well as you think you do, open your eyes and see the bigger picture.”

 

The guilt is infecting Hermione like an incurable disease. Hearing him say that, seeing his face as he said it…hurt. But it isn't the kind of hurt you feel when you realise you are wrong and desperate to try make things right. It's the kind of guilt you feel for having no control over robbing someone of something very important to them. In this case she's stolen his heart, and she doesn't really know how to give it back.

 

Ron looks like he's having a mental war within himself. Hanging his head low, his sister's words burrow deep enough into his skin, and Hermione can almost see the moment he feels the rawness of the burn. He looks like he's been singed in the worst of ways, the impact from the toxicity of Ginny’s truths consume him, piercing him deeply.

Hermione feels clueless as to what to do next. She’s always been difficult, but she has her reasons. Having her fair share of battles and not being understood is pretty much the center of them.

Questioning why things have to be so complicated, Hermione wishes she was back at Hogwarts. Back then they experienced a lot of things kids shouldn't go through, but they always came out on top. That is, until Voldemort won. Lately, it's been a battle up shit creek with no paddle. Now they are drowning in a river of their own blood; their days are numbered as Death himself drifts afloat, waiting patiently to take them all.

Hermione hears Ron’s honesty play in her mind. Harry is right. She has to be truthful with him. After all, they are first and foremost best friends. Ron doesn't need a reason to hate her, so she shouldn't give him one. It’ll be hard, telling him the truth, but at the moment he's going to have to wait. They have more pressing matters on their hands. Just because Harry says she can't go on the mission doesn't mean she won't; he's a fool for thinking he can trust her to stay behind. Despite his wishes, Hermione is going to destroy the Ministry tonight. She will deliver the maps to Harry and stay long enough to suss out his plan, offer ideas, play the supportive friend. Any foe who gets in her way will be _damned_ if they do because she is in the mood to let off a little steam.

Maybe her friends aren't safe with her too?

What they don't know won't hurt them. She'll be as stealthy as they come and back by the time they've accomplished the task. Besides, it’ll benefit everyone having her as an extra pair of eyes on the lookout for anything useful to them. If she comes across anything, then she'll come clean and confess she was there. Until such a time arises, she’ll stay under the radar and pretend to be pissed off for staying, even though she is most _definitely_ coming along.

Besides, what harm can come from an early attack at the heart of the chaos? It's a risk she’s willing to take. Little does she realise with risks, comes consequences. One would think this out of character for Hermione. If she is honest with herself, it is, but she’s Gryffindor at heart and they are known to be clouded, reacting emotionally and irrationally when triggered.

You don't win wars against evil by playing by the rules in the devil's playground. Nothing is going to be easy, but everything she does is for a purpose. Tonight, she's going to release some pent up frustration - brewed by hate and anger - at the Ministry. The real war begins now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased with the response TKO has had already! Thank you for your wonderful reviews! They certainly tickle my muse ;) This chapter is action packed! I'm glad you are loving my feisty Ginny - plenty more where that came from x
> 
> Beta-love: Sandra-Sempra 
> 
> GiTG x

 

* * *

 

After delivering the maps to Harry and helping the team devise a plan, Hermione is ready to derail the Ministry and of course - _without_ their knowledge, keep an eye on fellow members of the resistance.

The team Harry chose is a small contingency of Gryffindors: Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus - just a handful of members to work in a timely fashion. Harry wants to avoid panic, choosing to keep said information to a select few. Apart from them, the entire camp is in lockdown until further notice, claiming _unforeseen circumstances. O_ nce he knows _exactly_ what they're dealing with, he'll brief the resistance.

 

* * *

 

By the evening, Hermione is in her grandeur tarp used for accommodation, packing her trusty beaded handbag with the necessities. Various items are scattered methodically on the stretcher she detests referring to as her bed.

How she misses the comforts of a warm, comfortable sleeping quarters and a belly full of her mother's steak and kidney pie. They aren't exactly _starving_ here, but they do responsibly ration portions. The current arrangement is morally questionable, members commiting crimes to secure their needs, even taking from muggles. Mostly, they visit farms and take fresh produce, cooking up large quantities for the camp. Not everyday is a _hot food day,_ some days they are reduced to dry food and water. They also participate in fasts for training tactics to strengthen the mind, practicing discipline and increase the ability of survival _if_ they get caught. Not that they'd live to tell the tale... If they're captured, death is eminent and it won't be from starvation. Either way, it keeps everyone's expectations realistic.

The truth is, they can't go on stealing food forever, the ease of it will diminish over time with the dangers of their world increasing. Lack of the essentials to live - _food_ , ignites desperation in people, and they can't have people reacting with reckless abandonment due to uncontrollable urges. Fast days usually include strenuous dueling activities followed by a rest day. This rotation often stretches over a period of a week or two. Restricting food is also used as punishment on top of normal fasting periods. Given the current state of the Wizarding World, torturous methods aren't popular amongst the resistance. That is the agreement, that starvation is a good enough trigger to discipline in people. Their obedience comes from knowing how tough it is already without it.

Hermione has fasted when required, none of which times have been used as punishment. Perhaps, it's something she'll be experiencing soon, given her decision to defy Harry and work on her own accord. While packing the remaining items in her bag, a low whisper approaches the tent. Her movements cease momentarily so she can asses the noise more carefully. Without warning, the tent zip moves synonymously on it's own. _Damn it,_ she thinks to herself, there's only one person who knows her wards - _Ginny._ Feeling annoyed at herself for showing her how to get through her wards, Hermione is filled with regret, nerves building like the effects of reading an angsty slow-burn novel. Hermione is well accustomed to experimenting, playing with absurd ideas to create new things helpful to the order. Of course she keeps some for herself.

In an aid to escape questions she doesn't wish to answer, Hermione grabs her things, slicing an opening through the rear of the tent using her wand as a dagger and escapes through it.  A flick of her dagger restores her wand to it's former glory and repairs the damage she leaves behind. The next few minutes come as a surprise.

The sound of an irate voice can be heard on the opposite side saying: _Oh no you don't!_ Followed by rustling leaves crunching under urgent footsteps pounding into the dirt - Ginny dashes around the tent to catch her. Hermione bursts into a sprint with her fingers curling tightly in a death-like grip on her wand. A trail of destruction is left behind her through the trees as she is chased around the back of the camp. Hermione uses her senses to track the movements behind her, sending stunning spells over her shoulder in said direction of sounds to subdue her opponent quietly, treating this as a training exercise. Luckily, it's not an unusal practice to train around the camp at night. It's a plausible cover and a damn good one at that.

The wind blows, which aids to cool down the beads of sweat rolling down her face. She has that familiar stabbing feeling in the side of her stomach, except this time it's combined with anxiety and nerves building in the wall of her chest. The anticipation of making it out of their headquarters is a thrill she is chasing - she knows the rest is yet to come, but the adrenaline has kicked in now, she’s ready for this.

Looping around the long since fizzled charcoal fire, Hermione bolts to the east of the camp, heading straight towards the apparition point just beyond the wards protecting them. She starts weaving in and out of trees with the end goal in sight as victory draws nearer.

She’s trained with a disgruntled Ginny long enough to know her trailing behind. Right now, the telling sign is she can differentiate between the sound of her heavy breathing and the tactic being used to chase her. Training with Harry is more about surprising his opponent, using precise, stealthy steps to sneak up on them unexpectedly, striking them where it counts. Only when triggered, does Harry aim to seriously injure. Apart from that, he hasn't changed much since school besides the fact he no longer has a _signature_ spell. He also breathes through his nose and sometimes you can hear a faint whistle when he inhales deep enough.

Ron is much like Ginny, far from reserved and plays dirty. He's not afraid of using hexes to maim and capture, the only difference between them is he acts without thinking and foolishly falls into traps easily. When he's over exerted himself he usually coughs a lot, having found a particular liking to muggle cigarettes - it's impacted his health despite being physically fit.

Ginny reacts on instinct and formulates plans much like Hermione in that respect, she’s clever, rather deadly and doesn't hesitate. While Harry asks they don't kill, if someone she loves is in trouble, Ginny isn't indecisive about killing whoever is harming them. She fights for self-preservation, having taken a note from Slytherin’s book, because she has come to accept that in order to survive she must use _any_ means to achieve _her_ ends. This makes her unpredictable to those who don't know her, and somewhat of a loose cannon to those that do. If you get on her shitlist, basically, she will fuck you up in the worst kind of way and she's proud of being known for the fact. People avoid training with her when they can; she's a force to be reckoned with. The fact she's set her sights on Hermione, means the only way she can escape Ginny’s wrath is by getting out of there altogether before she’s caught.

Despite Hermione’s obvious skills, running isn't one of them. There's only so many loops you can do, given the size of their restricted headquarters, before running into someone, and Ginny is notorious for playing cat and mouse.

With the wards fifty meters ahead next to three wooden stumps, the apparition point comes into view. Hermione legs it. She runs so hard she feels like the impact from the energy thrown behind her weight could cause her ankles to snap any minute. Struggling for breath she chants in her mind, _Don't stop, don't look back - keep running!_

Her chest feels like it's about to seize up from from the pressure of breathing strenuously, while the stitch in the side of her stomach chips away at her muscles, giving her sharp pains with each breath. As she reaches the threshold and passes through the wards, her heart leaps and bounds. It's too early to celebrate but she's almost made it!

With each step taking her closer to the apparition point, just shy of five meters away, Hermione feels a shoulder slam into her back, the force of it causing her to face plant into a tree and bite her lip. Her teeth puncture her skin  and that familiar metallic taste of blood envelopes her mouth. Rolling her tongue over her bottom lip feels like a bitter sting - the impact from being shoved into the tree so violently.

What doesn't astound her is the fact that Ginny  practically spear-tackled her into the tree out of nowhere when she thought she was convinced she was ahead. It irks her how Ginny always has a way of doing that: leading you to believe she's in one place and then unexpectedly appearing out of nowhere. Usually it's something Hermione would applaud her for, but tonight she is far from cheering her on. Hermione will give credit where credit is due, but Ginny just fucked up her plans in the most brutal of ways.

Hermione's lip is throbbing from the bite. Swiping her tongue over her sticky bottom lip once more, she feels a lumpy hollow where she's removed a chunk of skin. There's a dull ache when her mouth forms words to speak; her temper reaches a boiling point as Ginny releases her hold.

Even in the dark she can tell Ginny is furious. The glow of the quarter moon shines brightly through a gap in the trees, providing enough light to see Ginny's forehead. It's scrunched so tight she's frowning, and judging by the way Ginny’s palm is cupping her head, the vein that's appeared to the side of it must be throbbing. The insult to stay behind must have been weighing on her mind all day - she's clearly pissed off at the imposition. Furthermore, she's probably beyond the point of kind negotiations, being pissed off at Hermione for her evasion of her.

 

* * *

 

Suspiciously, Ginny looks over her shoulder to see if anyone's around. Planting her hands firmly on Hermione’s shoulders so soon after her assault causes her to jump in response. If this was kill time it’d be either a moment of truth or dishonour with neither of them willing to give up what they're fighting for.

Not giving a chance to catch their breath, Ginny makes her demands known by asking the most basic question. It's delivered in a tone that suggests it would be wise for Hermione to comply truthfully and make it straight to the point. If it could be possible for people's feelings to be blatantly displayed across their foreheads for others to see, Ginny’s would simply say “Don't fuck with me “ If looks could kill, _she’d_ be a serial killer. Ginny is a professional at nailing _resting bitch face,_ and Hermione doesn't have the heart to manipulate her friend, feeling the exact same offence and betrayal she's evidently feeling.

Bending forward with her hands resting on her knees, Ginny struggles through harsh gasps for air, somehow managing to construct a sentence while trying to catch her breath.

“Going somewhere, Hermione?”

Hermione scrunches her eyes closed, inhaling deeply as she considers her thoughts carefully. The last thing she wants is to aggravate her and possibly end up being confined to chains for the night, keeping her from the task at hand. If she's going to succeed, she needs an ally, and what better accomplice than a woman scorned by men devaluing her abilities as a witch - out of _protection_ , however, deciding to let her come increases the risk tenfold. Then again, Ginny just tricked her on the field and successfully manoeuvred in a way that fooled her. The reality of the fact is, there's no reason to refuse Ginny coming along. She proven on many occasions she's quite capable of taking care of herself.

 

* * *

 

Silence falls between them while they each consider the consequences, exchanging suspicious looks. Hermione is distrustful for understandable reasons - Ginny threatens her goal, while Ginny is equally suspicious of Hermione for excluding her.

Hermione glances at her watch before attempting to answer her question, every minute spent here talking is a minute wasted on the field. Ginny speaks again, her voice exuding her fierce Gryffindor determination. Her facial expressions are readable, Hermione’s seen this look before: calculating eyes, chest heaving, cheeks flushed with splotchy patches of red in fury. It's apparent there will be no negotiations tonight.

“I know you're going and I'm coming with you. If you refuse, I'll tell.”

Ginny's resourcefulness is no surprise. The girl is a living example of someone who can achieve anything through the art of blatantly blackmailing. If that fails, she has no qualms with playing dirty. Giving Hermione the ultimatum, she presses the matter, too impatient to wait. This time her presence is more commanding. Standing to full height, raising her head in a way that demands Hermione’s full attention, she leaves her no choice but to grant her wishes.

“So what's it going to be? Care to fill me in on your plan? Because it's obvious you have one.”

Hermione’s face softens, accepting defeat as the time continues to tick. She can spend the next ten minutes arguing about it, or she can agree to disagree, tell her what she's doing and get it done with Ginny’s help.

“Alright, if you'd just given me a minute to think instead of hounding me, I wouldn't have kept you waiting so long for an answer.”

Scoffing in frustration, Ginny puts her hand on her hip arrogantly, indicating she's waiting for further instructions and eager to get on with the task at hand. Given Hermione's reluctance to divulge the details of her plan, Ginny crosses her arms together, letting her _no bullshit_ approach continue as she cuts to the chase.

“I'm not known for my patience, Hermione. Now, tell me how we are fucking up the Ministry - without the boys knowing, and more importantly - why didn't you tell me about it? Don't spit that noble bullshit, it's getting old.”

Hermione huffs in exasperation. One thing that annoys her about Ginny is the fact that when she wants to know something she persists, wanting the whole thing outlined like plotting a book. With time against them, Hermione channels a bit of Ginny in her response.”

“I'm sorry, Ginny. But that's the truth. I'm breaking rules here and going against orders from my best friend. There will be repercussions if I'm discovered there. I don't want to be responsible for anyone getting hurt but I trust you to help me get it done so let's go. I can explain the rest later.”

Ginny’s face lights up, albeit at how easy it was to convince Hermione to let her in on her personal mission. She gives her undivided attention, her attitude receptive with a _That's good enough for me, so what's the plan?_ Kind of look. It's out of character for Hermione to be rash but with time against them, the situation calls for an extremely quick briefing, followed by casting disillusionment charms and disappearing from the apparition point.

 

* * *

 

Their arrival is as stealthy as they come, mainly due to a major significant distraction - Hell breaking loose in the foyer of the Ministry. The boys are caught up in a battle of sorts, masked Death Eaters surrounding them, flashes of light exploding, causing smoke to emit from their wands. Hermione coughs, instinctively choking on the fumes, flinging her arm over her face to shield it. She invades the large, open space that once served as a welcoming entry with an increased heart rate and wide eyes scanning the scene unfolding.

Now lacking in opulence and authority, the foyer disrupts with layer upon layer of shattered statues, piled into masses of concrete on the cracked floor. It almost resembles a cemetery of broken rubble; the resting place for many innocent muggles. Now it's clear only corrupt souls walk in their wake. Even the resistance is guilty of that.

They're deep in the thick of battle, and Hermione's chest tightens as her wide eyes roam the expanse for her friends. Breathing has become difficult with the bile rising up her throat, and she dry retches trying to choke it down.

Ignoring her instincts to stay and help, a niggling thought presses Hermione, reminding her of the reason they're there. Having the upperhand by not being detected, the girls get to work. Ginny remains with discretion, firing curses from her trusty wand, casting enchantments to shield them when needed.

Knowing Seamus hasn't had a chance to blow the place up, Hermione takes on the task of gathering records to blast the place to smithereens. With luck on her side, the explosion will create a diversion long enough for the others to escape. Under the guise of a disillusionment charm, Hermione sprints as fast as her legs can take her towards the lifts. Clutching her side of her stomach, the short trip gives her enough solace to recuperate.

Arriving on the floor she needs, Hermione assess the confined hallway, deciding a sprint is her best approach to cover ground. It's not long before her eyes scan an emerald green door, with the name _Rabastan Lestrange_ engraved in silver. Upon finding it, she swipes her wand effortlessly to silence the floor before a quick flick of her wrist busts open his door, knowing a simple _alohomora_ won't do.

Scrambling to his filing cabinet - interest piqued, her fingertips glide gingerly over the top drawer. The cabinet itself is unprotected which she finds strange but she doesn't have time to argue the pros and cons of exploring it. The moment her fingers fold underneath the handle, her fingers began to tingle. An unfamiliar surge of electricity zaps her magical core causing her to flinch and pull away automatically. _Ouch! What the fuck was that?_ She thinks to herself.

Not having time to hesitate, she's against taking the time to think things through **-** so many lives depend on her. Hermione reaches forward, preparing herself for whatever consequences may arise, boldly yanking the draw outwards and is relieved to discover everything appears ordinary. She cringes at Rabastan Lestrange’s unorthodox attempt at filing paperwork but pushes past it, tearing open her beaded bag, immediately piling files and shoving them into it. Having found what she came for, Hermione releases a breath of ease. Now all she has to do is blow this place up and the others can escape. Easy.

Walking towards the door, her mind considers her plan but she is snapped from her thoughts by the sound of a creaky door. Her eyes focus on the exit she's approaching as it opens slowly, startling her. Every nerve ending in her body is on edge while she awaits the doorway to reveal whoever is on the other side.

Trying to calm her mind and steady her nerves, grip tightening on her wand prepares her for the chaos to begin. Her heart stops beating for longer than a minute, regaining only when a perfect head of pure blond hair catches her eye. Remembering she is currently hidden by the disillusionment charm, Hermione exhales a breath of relief, but it's enough to unfortunately gain the attention of Malfoy.

Malfoy’s eyes glaze past her and she can't shake her awareness of him. Her ability to asses detailed situations with perception is above average, but the goosebumps appearing on her arms is enough evidence to know her thoughts perhaps resonate with the truth. Something’s not right here, it's as though Malfoy can see her, and he is analysing her frozen form. The revelation sends chills down her spine making her heart thrum wildly in her chest - her anxiety begins to rise. There's this lump growing in back of her throat and she lacks enough saliva to push it down. Every time she tries to swallow, it builds, growing… _thriving_ off the angst she's feeling until she can't breathe anymore… Hermione hasn't seen him since Voldemort won the Battle of Hogwarts -  everything about his presence is still intimidating.

Her wandering eyes scan his somewhat disheveled robes, torn from duelling obviously. The rips and tears expose parts of his chest which confirms his solid frame is disguised under his lanky build and loose clothing. The irony that his hair remains intact while the rest of him looks shabby is amusing to her. _Prissy fucking, Malfoy._ She hasn't been in the same room as him in a really long time, but he still elicits the same reaction from her. For instance, there's this danger about him that almost pulls her in, but the angel on her shoulder called _common sense_ advises her otherwise.

The angst she is feeling is full blown fear and her mind recognises _this is about to get untoward._ Her palms are sweaty, causing enough dampness for her wand to slip through her fingertips, plummeting in slow-motion towards the floor. Its clatter officially alerts him of her existence, however, he doesn't appear surprised - her suspicions were correct. Unable to move, she looks on in shock as her wand rolls away from her clutches towards him _._

Gulping, she prays for strength, she is betrayed by her inability to feel as the numbness sets in. The lack of sensation and her soul crushing fear constricts the ability to move, to retrieve her only available weapon. She's choking on her failure to be a fearless Gryffindor and the realisation is beyond haunting - it's _humiliating_. Hermione doesn't realise she's holding her breath until the walls around her begin to close in - suffocating her in the vicinity of her personal space. Her chest eventually heaves as she regains the ability to breathe, his quirked brow and unreadable demeanor leaves her uncertain of what to presume.

Malfoy twirls her wand through his fingers, taking a step closer, making her _very_ aware of the current threat approaching - but her distress clouds everything. She assumes post traumatic stress disorder is to blame and laughs at the ridiculous irony of having a fully operational mind against her helpless body.

Malfoy stalks towards her with slow, purposeful steps and she struggles to soothe the panic rising in her chest. She braces herself for death, hoping Harry will forgive her, pleading with herself to at least die with dignity and fight back no matter the odds.

With Malfoy’s devilish smirk distracting her from functioning, what happens next creates a whirlwind of unexpected confusion for her, she came here prepared for a fight but she isn't prepared for this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for the cliffy last chapter ;p Thank you for the love! Keep it coming x
> 
> Beta-love: Sandra-Sempra!!!
> 
> GiTG x

* * *

I listened to Lana writing this chapter and I adore these lyrics:

 _I got a feeling in my bones_  
_Can't get you out of my veins_  
_You can't escape my affection_ _  
_ Wrap you up in my daisy chains

_Lana Del Rey._

 

* * *

 

_With Malfoy’s devilish smirk distracting her from functioning, what happens next creates a whirlwind of unexpected confusion for her, she came here prepared for a fight but she isn't prepared for this._

 

* * *

 

“Now’s not the time to throw your wand to the enemy, Granger - an _enemy_ that has been sanctioned to kill you,” retorts Draco. His face is as hard as stone but his demeanour suggests something else. _What is that?_ _A glimmer of concern?_ Wonders Hermione with intrigue. Taking a single step toward him in cold defiance, she is sure to hide her inquisitive gaze.

“How can you see me, Malfoy?” she demands, her voice roaring with clear distinction. Her sudden burst of confidence is surprising, considering her fingers are twitching to fill the void of her missing wand. Without the safety of it to cling to she must rely on her wandless magic, the jolt of disappointment heightens her awareness of the growing danger in the current situation. Her breathing is erratic, matching the wild thumping of her heart. The push-pull of blood pumping through her veins is moving so rapidly, she's momentarily light headed as the suspense grows between them.

She curses herself at the predicament, becoming too reliant on her trusty wand. The ten and three quarter inch, hand crafted stick of vine wood with the core of dragon heartstring has become such a staple in her daily activities, she's regretfully become far more  dependant on it than she like. The bond she shares is like that of a friend: living, breathing, soul-connecting - an essential necessity that has distracted her from focusing on developing her skills amongst other things. _Damn it, Hermione! Get it together. Focus. Breathe - it’s just Malfoy. You've whipped his arse his whole life. Now is not the time to come in second!_ She shakes her head at the hypocrisy of how amusing this would be if she wasn't in a life or death situation. It's unfortunate how easily Gryffindor recklessness wears on her, like the action of wearing an old T-shirt that doesn't fit anymore; the downfall of being cooped up in a resistance camp with so many of them.

Her obvious mental anguish is amusing to Malfoy and he takes it upon himself to chide her.

“How can I see you?” he scoffs while chuckling in a way as if to mock her. “Have you gone mad, Granger? Uncle Bass’s office has wards to expose snoops. The moment you touch anything in here reverses enchantments used to conceal or contain. Surely you expected that?”

Hermione huffs, placing a single hand on her hip in response, suggesting she already knew. Internally, she admits to herself the idiocy of it, wishing she was more cautious. Instead she let the pressure get to her, a mistake proving costly now. Hermione can't remember when she became this risk-loving junky that practically laughs in the face of her enemies, in the name of fear. Lacking the consideration of probable repercussions, she has blindly let herself be driven by tomfoolery. She's going to have to work on taming the lion in the future if she wants to survive this war. Especially now that she is the core of its motivation.

Instead of biting back, her eyebrows raise as she exhales a gush of honesty.

“Truthfully, it was the last thing on my mind.”

Malfoy tilts his head, quirking his brows at her candor. His voice loses its ridicule while he takes a moment to look at her, wand twirling around length of his bony phalanges.  
  
“That's unusual, especially for you.” There's a hint of accusation in his tone, her lack of preparation catches her off guard.

Feeling a surge of frustration by the way he’s handling her wand, Hermione crosses her arms, refraining the tap of her foot. To onlookers, this exchange would be reminiscent of their past experiences at Hogwarts: friend versus foe, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, _muggleborn_ versus pureblood - girl versus boy and now _resistance_ versus Death Eater. It's rather ironic how in their entire magical lives, they've gravitated towards hating each other; complete opposites on the spectrum always made to cross paths. No matter the direction of chaos, it's as though they are destined to challenge each other. It's like they were put on this earth to make each others life's heaven versus hell.

She stares at Malfoy, wondering what he's playing at by practically taunting her with her own wand. Then she scolds herself speculating why she isn't charging at him, using any magic she can summon to retrieve it and beat his arse. Instead she is shamelessly taking his bait, giving in to his banter.

“Yeah - well, _usually_ I have these flawless ideas and nothing goes to plan, so I'm expanding my horizons,” she muses letting a laugh escape her lips. The loose slip of her personality comes as a surprise to him, evident by the way his eyebrows furrow. Hermione is _not_ a carefree person, but after everything she’s been through, she's learnt a thing or two about lightening up. It comes with the territory of war and being in the constant company of Weasleys. Her sudden ease surprises herself, having momentarily forgotten she is in the presence of her lifetime enemy. The same one that has hold of her _wand,_ and just confessed his orders to _kill_ her.

Pressing her lips together intermittently, she looks down to avoid his reaction, remembering that where ever Malfoy is, danger lingers and now is not the time to indulge in banter. _Is it banter?_ She questions silently while commencing a one-sided conversation in her head. Her hair dangles in front of her left eye, causing her eyes to drift up the length of his body, fluttering her eyelids to meet his, before twirling a curl around her finger and tucking it behind her ear. The move was for more seductive than she intended it to be, the realisation eliciting a brief smile. At the actualisation of her unabashed modesty she reprimands herself: _What the fuck am I doing? It's not banter, more like wit, right?_ She hopes, trying to convince herself of the latter, but no matter how hard she tries, she can't ignore the blatant stupidity of her hormones. Given the choice, if it was a switch she could turn off she’d isolate the power, padlock it and throw away the damn key. She had flirted openly with the enemy, letting her primitive urges control her motivation, baiting Malfoy as though he was a noble seaman searching the ocean for his lady love, shuffling uncomfortably at the notion of riding his deep waves an rough seas.

Hermione is far from being anything of the harlot she implicated herself to be. The last thing on her mind shouldn't be anything remotely sexual with the deadly blond in front of her with her life at risk of death. If this is the fates messing with her, dishing up some sort of karma in a revengeful plot for turning down sex with Ron the other day when she wanted it, she hopes they are choking on a cold side of due diligence by playing her this way.

The current shock of her thought process is a wake up call, enough to snap her out of her daze. Now is hardly the time for her to let urges take control, she needs to get it together.

Malfoy steps towards her and for a moment she realises the fear and hate is replaced with curiosity; is now a slow growing angst, the gentle skip of her heart at the nearing wizard before her. Her breathing rattles slightly, his scent wafting to her in relentless waves of euphoria. She wants to blame her reaction on a combination of nerves and stress, but she can't help admire how he smells of the same exotic aftershave he wore in school. She wonders about the man standing before her, where he's been? What struggles and triumphs have lead him to be the person he is now? Given their history, Hermione half expected to be dead already, but he appears to have no intention of harming her. Is he hesitating? Or is this a game too?

Despite his fragrance being the same expensive cologne as always, she notes how its usual blend is lacking crisp green apples today. Keenly, Hermione inhales, hell bent on discovering the change. To her distaste, she picks up an overpowering metallic-like hint of ammonia, it's overwhelming fragrance so bitterly repugnant she can almost savour it… It's - _it's blood._

Suddenly, Hermione is confronted by what could very well be the truth. Draco Malfoy is standing in front of her, intoxicating her existence with knowledge of the unknown, tormenting her with her wand and the blood of his victims, and there's a strong possibility it could be from one or more of her friends.

She's reminded of the time she was captured in seventh year, tortured by his crazed aunt at the Manor and her fear begins to mount. Flashes of the past come to the forefront, _clouding_ her judgement, _teasing_ her common sense and taking _control_ of her ability to remain calm. Her heart won't be still, and it's thumping so hard she longs for the Hermione she used to be - that bold, brave girl with fire whose flame could set alight anyone who dares to cross her.

Instead, she is locked inside a cage of bones, buried deep within the wall of her chest cavity. She's trying to escape by cracking her ribs with a hammer, the tap of it beating like the hum of a drum but her palms are still sweaty. The hammer slips from her grip just as easily as her wand had fallen from her, and again he wins her over just as effortlessly.

Hermione adamantly slides her hands down the sides of her jeans, hoping to wipe off her attraction - it's the closest she can get to washing her hands off of him. She looks away, disgusted by how easily she let herself be distracted by Malfoy.

He looks almost confused by her, analysing her incredulously at the long pause between them. He picks up where she left off, annoyance evident in his abruptness.

“Expanding your horizons? You mean - not giving a fuck about self - preservation and being a stereotypical stubborn, reckless Gryffindor?”

Hermione bobs her shoulders in admittance, knowing she’ll be lying if she denies it and for some reason, she doesn’t feel obliged to. “Something like that.”

Malfoy should be sneering, like he always does when he’s stirring the simmering cauldron, just prodding at the temperature relentlessly before it reaches its boiling point, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks calm and collected, his voice laced with the bitter arrogance of reason, as if he's schooling a friend he cares about on what they _can_ and can't do.

“You shouldn't be here,” he modulates with a stoic deposition.

His body language is conflicting with the delivery of his: _You shouldn't be here_ speech, enough to make her wonder what he means by it. His voice, although flat, definitely implies more depth, which is even more confusing due to his lack of effort to kill her.

Hermione quips, “Oh, so you own the Ministry now too, do you?”

Malfoy shakes his head a distinct no. The gravity of the situation is practically comical by this point, but she is quick to rethink her amusement when he says: _I'm not here for small talk, Granger._

Hermione feels the small tug of impatience and again refrains from stamping a foot. “Nor am I, Malfoy. In fact, I'm not even supposed to _be_ here, so give me back _my_ wand and I can call it a night.”

His jaw clenches tightly, mouth twitching. She thinks she has the egotistical prick right where she wants him, but he persists by antagonising her.

“Are you capable of being anything other than insufferable? Do you honestly think you'll be able to recast that disillusionment charm and get out of here _undetected_?” He steps closer to her again and she can feel his breath dance courageously across her face. Not once has she felt the need to appreciate the growth of a cowardice Slytherin, but she can't deny the boldness of it now. He appears frustrated by her amusement... The fact they are even having a conversation in the scheme of things is mind boggling to them. The Malfoy she knows wouldn't do this, he isn't - he _shouldn't_ be like this.

“You've been tagged as a undesirable, Granger. You're not walking out of here, _especially_ looking like you.”

Letting her Weasley inspired humour come to light, she asks almost playfully, “I don't suppose you have some polyjuice potion laying around?”

Malfoy raises a single brow at the shock of her jest.

“Now's not the time for you to have a sense of humour.”

With the truth daunting on her, she cuts to the chase as quickly as Ginny can cut through bullishit.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” The threat in her tone is intimidating enough to throttle anyone except him. Given his dating history, one can assume he is adept in dealing with difficult witches. It comes as no surprise he's unmoved by her change in approach.

“As I said before,” he dictates... “You shouldn't _be_ here. Need I remind you of Decree number one -”

Hermione huffs loudly, expressing her feelings of petty annoyance.

“I'm _well_ aware of the proclamation, Draco Malfoy.” Her _don't mess with me_ sass unfaltering.

Malfoy scrunches his nose at the use of his full name. Obviously, it’s not something used in day-to-day conversation. He opens his mouth, sighing slightly.

“Then I suggest you get the fuck out of here, _now_. I can enable the floo in here to let you escape. If you wish to survive I highly recommend laying low for awhile. There's a target on your head and I'm obliged to follow orders. Just do me the favour and _get out of here_ before I implement them and execute _you.”_

Feeling the need to push him for answers, Hermione presses the matter by asking the obvious.

“Then why help me?”

Malfoy pauses, not enjoying the exposure of his honesty. It's not something Hermione has known him to be. Malfoy is many things, but truthful isn't one of them. She finds it hard to believe he has no _intentions_ of hurting her and his reluctance is the fuel feeding the fire to her flames.

He rakes a hand through his hair, pausing to rest it on the back of his head.

“Because I don't enjoy _killing_ people, Granger. Especially people that are trying to defeat the Dark Lord.”

Her eyebrows furrow, mouth falling open wide enough to catch flies before moving to form the words that escape her lips. With an incredulous head-tilt she asks cautiously: “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

Her reaction snaps him out of his honest contemplation, his mistake showing fractures in his flaws. He shakes his head to deny it.

“I'm not saying anything. Look, just get the fuck out of here okay - before someone else sees you.”

That fighting Gryffindor spirit is alive, she refuses to go unless she fully understands what the _hell_ is going on with him because _none_ of this adds up. She wants answers, but is in no position to _make_ him comply with her demands. All she can do is argue, so argue she does.

“You're crazy if you think I'm leaving here without my friends. Besides, your uncle will know someone's been in here as soon as he opens his cabinet.”

She can almost hear him tsk, tsk her.

“You knew this from the beginning - _before_ I interrupted you. Tell me how you planned to escape?” He asks mockingly.

As if bored with the conversation, she rolls her eyes and explains without reservation.

“By blowing up this floor of course, creating enough of a distraction for the others to make a get away.”

Malfoy finds her plan almost comical, his face lighting up in amusement.

“For your information, that clean getaway doesn't exist,” he retorts. “You rocked up the night before a sanctioned kill order begins - of course this place would be crawling with Death Eaters. Your friends are losing the fight, Granger. When I saw the Weaslette go down, I knew you'd be around here somewhere. Potter is stupid for letting you come.”

A flash of panic overwhelms her and she shakes her head. “He doesn't know I'm here.”

Her breath hitches as she lingers on the end of his previous statement, her true fears on the brink of reality. Reaching forward she grabs hold of his arm, shaking him as she pleads for answers.

“You saw Ginny. When? _Where_?”

He doesn't push her away, in fact, he doesn't even flinch, stepping closer to offer a hand for support he explains: “When she was struck down by my father… He deflected her hex and it rebounded. Should have seen Potter's face.” He sounds amused mentioning Harry and it makes her angry. Enough to snatch herself away from him and remove her grip.

“That's because she wasn't supposed to be here either!” She shrieks in annoyance. “I _have_ to help her! I have to help _them_! I can't leave here without anyone - I won't take the floo. I refuse.”

Shaking his head, Malfoy resigns: “I hope you understand you're signing a death warrant, Granger.”

This time her arms fling upwards, hands gripping his shoulders, using the momentum of her body to push him back. He flinches under the touch of the witch forcing him backwards, the look on his face is one of distress, obviously by the way her hands vibrate nothing but sheer determination through him.

“I'm not signing anything” she admonishes. “ Now _move_ out my way.”

His hands swoop over the fingers she has curled around his shoulders, and for a minute they exchange an intense stare that makes the rise and fall of his chest quicken and her gasp in response. She trips, stumbling slightly, and her clumsiness draws them closer. Her eyes are level with his nose but she can't help but focus on his lips as they linger dangerously close to hers. She bites down, chewing anxiously as she blinks several times before darting her concentration from his mouth to his eyes. He seems to be focused on her too, and for a moment she sheepishly wonders if there's dirt or something on her face.

He steps away, pulling her grabby hands off his shoulders, letting them go in slow motion.

“I can't let it look like I let you escape, Granger.”

With the anticipation of uncertainty growing she chastises him.

“Well fuck off downstairs then and I'll follow after. Pretend you're chasing something.”

Offended by her suggestion that he be so ignorant, he questions her rash recklessness with the same abrasive approach as normal.

“You really think it's _that_ simple _?_ And then what? _Smartest_ witch of our age.”

Hermione raises her finger at him, poking his shoulder with the same aggressiveness as she would if she had her wand.

“And then you need to continue doing whatever you're doing to survive and I'll carry on doing mine.”

Malfoy can't resist the fight when it's so easy to antagonise, she knows it. So it comes as no surprise when he presses her further.

“You won't be in a position to negotiate down there, Granger. If you're caught - I can't help you.”

Hermione stops in her tracks, snatching her wand from his grasp and then dropping her arms to her sides.

“I don't want your damn help!”

“You may not _want_ it - but you're going to _need_ it to win this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don't be daft, Granger, it's not in your nature to act dense and it insults your intelligence.“

“Well stop being so damn vague!”

“I'm talking about the big picture here. Granger, I need _your_ help.”

Before Hermione can ask why the hell he needs her, the sound of an explosion goes off downstairs.

“Shit!” yells Malfoy. “Come on - execute your goddamn plan and get your little resistance buddies out of here before they _die.”_  Says Malfoy while grabbing Hermione's arm, pulling her towards the lifts. Yanking herself out of his grip Hermione stands in the doorway, blocking their escape.

With the point of her wand aimed directly down the hallway, Hermione shouts _Confringo!_ The blasting curse is rumored to be powerful enough to decimate an entire street, but Hermione's heart sinks when a mere puff of smoke emits from her wand. Anger boils inside her, her grip around her wand harbours enough strength to strangle him.

“Malfoy, why isn't my wand working? What did you do to my wand?” She demands through gritted teeth.

“Calm your tits, Granger - I did nothing. This is a fucking Ministry building. If it was that easy to blow the place up it wouldn't be here. It's a defence mechanism. This floor has been compromised!”

“But the explosion downstairs -”

“ - is real.” He interjects. “There's only one type of fire capable of burning this place down.”

“I'm losing my patience, Malfoy!” The rage radiating from her like an atomic bomb.

“Are you familiar with fiendfyre?”

“Of course I am!” She shouts, annoyed by the insinuation she isn't.

“Can you cast one?” He’s earnest but she still hates the way he asks her such things.

“I've never tried, but I've read about them.”

“Reading about them is nothing compared to controlling one” he chastises, the weight of their world crumbling on his shoulders. She can see it in the depths of his eyes.

“I don't suppose you're offering to cast one then? Are you?” She quips, knowing time is running out.

“I have a plan,” he drawls. “I'll cast a fiendfyre to destroy this floor, but it needs an active target.”

Sighing, she accepts the fact, although she tries to deny it.

“You've got to be kidding me.”

He points to the other escalator. “We can take separate lifts, but once those doors open - _run._ Run harder than you've ever ran before. I'll control it long enough to distract people.”

She's out of breath at the mere thought of it.

“This is crazy,” she mutters, inhaling deeply as if to savour the air enriching in her lungs.

Malfoys haste demands urgency.

“If you want this mother fucker to burn, it's what has to be done.”

With the impending fiendfyre task and his acknowledgment to help, she asks, “What will happen to you for doing it?”

He brushes over the details, and she feels a pang of worry in her core. This entire exchange has been nothing but confusing and she doesn't fully understand why.

“I'll say part of the truth. You were all trying to escape, spill some bullshit about the twat-waffle that started the fiendfyre. Then confess that mine was to prevent you from escaping. I'll probably be punished for it.”

Hermione appreciates his honesty once more, but her concern for him intensifies.

“Doesn't that scare you?”

He scoffs, this time appearing offended by her morality to be so caring.

“After all the things I've seen - _nothing_ scares me.”

“How can I trust you?” she questions, while searching his eyes for something that proves he's a person just like her with feelings, concerns, hopes and _dreams_.

“You can't,” he replies dryly. “Don't ever trust me, Granger. Just know there's a bigger picture here. There's more people on your side.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She enquires perplexed. Her persistence would have been commendable if their lives didn't depend on it. “Hey - answer me!” she insists as he pushes her further into the lift before flicking his wand abruptly to close it. As the doors slide together he is confident, but if she hadn't been looking so intently in his eyes she would have missed his failure to hide the ominous shadows lurking in them. “Bye, Granger. See you soon.”

Hermione starts hyperventilating, preparing for the worst. As the lift comes to a hault, the doors peel open revealing the true horrors, it is far worse than anything she imagined. She squeezes her eyes closed, hoping to shake off the memory burning into her skull. Upon opening them, the scene remains, scarring her beyond repair.  
  
Her body weakens, feeling significantly drained by the inevitable, but the ding of the lift next to her is the wake up call she needs to start running; the heat of a roaring blaze on her tail.

Looking from left to right she scans the carnage, trying to find the strength to get through this. Her eyes connect with Harry's and she runs towards him, screaming _where’s Ginny?_ Between flashes of light and puffs of smoke, his shaky fingers point towards her relaxed form, thrown over the shoulders of a masked Death Eater. _No!_ shouts Hermione, momentarily forgetting the raging fiendfyre targeting her. She runs towards Ginny, her feet carrying her blindly through the thick, black smoke engulfing the room. She uses her arm to shield her face but it doesn't make the air cleaner to breathe. Feeling more determined than ever, she nears the Death Eater holding her friend, dismay emanating off her like sprayed perfume - her essence bottled like fear.

Her ears pick up a familiar voice as Ron shouts: _Look out, Hermione!_ and she spins around to see Malfoy’s wand pointed at her. In a flash, his wand flicks in Ron's direction causing him to drop quicker than a sack of dragon dung. _No!_ screams Hermione, as she looks from Ron to Malfoy. His mouth forms the word  _imperio_ before she has a chance to spit vile and hate towards him.

Like floating on a cloud, her body is as calm and steady as the happiest of dreams. Her chest feels noticeably lighter as her worries mindlessly drift away. There's a fog glazing her mind and all control seems to float away like a summer breeze. She has this feeling she should be doing something, pushing back or fighting, but the overwhelming cloud has her redirecting herself towards the apparition point beyond the Ministry. Along the way, her eyes dart at Dean and Seamus carrying Ron as ranks begin to fall back. Harry is shouting in the distance but his words fall short of her ears.

Upon reaching the apparition she turns on the spot, feeling her body being pulled through the air faster than the speed of light. Landing in the woods, she seems to have regained control of herself and her hostility towards Malfoy is reignited as her eyes fall on Ron's severe injuries.

There's a loud _POP!_ behind her and Harry emerges with tears dripping from the windows to his soul.

“Where's Ginny, Harry?” she asks with a shaky voice, unable to hide her guilt and worry.

Harry's head drops, and for a second she can swear she hears the sound of his heart breaking. Instead of shaking his head he shouts back in aversion: _Get back to camp, now Hermione._

More guilt and nausea roll through her like like a tidal wave, the thought of Ginny being missing and it being her fault weighs heavy in her chest. Her heart aches for betraying Harry by bringing her, the dread she feels is worse than a dementor sucking the life out of her. She turns towards the three stumps, dragging her feet as she does, wondering why the hell Malfoy imperiused her; her emotions continue to torment her like the continual plague of ill health. She hears Ron's disgruntled cries for her and the reality is too much to bare. It's all her fault. Shouts echo through the camp as everyone wakes to the sounds of pain and Harry's cries for Ginny. The aftermath of her actions is more harrowing than she could have _ever_ imagined.

Hermione feels a hand grip her shoulder and the words: _Come on, we need to get to you a medi-witch,_ penetrate her ears. Instead of fighting, she succumbs to the voice trying to soothe her, letting it lead her to where she needs to be. As she nears the tent reserved for medical aid her head feels light and fuzzy, causing her vision to blur. The next thing she feels is her body giving out from underneath her, the sound of her deadweight colliding with the floor. Call it shock or exhaustion - she doesn't know. What she _does_ know is: Ginny is missing, Ron is hurt and she will never forgive herself for it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be my only trigger warning for Romione. I said from the start it'd happen! LOL. 
> 
> Also, if you're in the Granger Enchanted Survivor's 18+ FB page, I'm being featured in a couple of hours for "Meet The Pename." If you'd like to know a bit more about me feel free to head over and check out the videos! 
> 
> Special thanks to the admins for asking me and putting so much effort into the vids. Special, special thanks to SaintDionysus, who I believe has made a heap of aesthetics for my stories to be featured alongside my interview. I haven't seen them yet so I'll be just as surprised at you are! 
> 
> Beta-love: Sandra-sempa X

 

* * *

 

Hermione wakes to the aches and pains of her tired body. Exhaustion has its reins wrapped firmly around her, pulling her in a tight embrace that is far from the comforts of a welcoming hug. Although she’s not injured, her limited ability to move due to this enervation, is far less than she deserves. She vaguely remembers raised voices outside the tent a moment ago, one being the irate voice of Harry, the other - soft spoken in hushed tones too low to pick up. Nethertheless, they are arguing. It’s pathetic of her, really, to be laid up on bed rest, for no apparent reason, other than the fact that she’s tired, when her friend is missing/taken by Death Eaters on the eve of a Kill Order, one of which is rather lax about the death of blood traitors. The realisation hurts more than pain gnawing away at her aching bones.

She jerks herself into a sitting position, extending her arm to the bedside where she hopes to find her wand. Lacing her fingers around the thin wood, she mutters a _lumos_ and is startled by Harry sitting in the chair opposite her bed. He’s been waiting in the shadows, obviously mad, and the anger radiating off him is soul-crushing; the direct result of Hermione's actions has never triggered Harry's temper before. She knows she needs to explain but nothing she can say will fix this.

Peeling off the blanket draped over her, Hermione slips her legs out the side of the stretcher, her feet finding the cold, plastic tarped floor.

“Don’t," her sudden movement is already too much for him. The guilt is back and takes on the form her best friend, his disdain unnerving her in a thousand ways. She _should_ have expected this…should have given the consequences more thought.

“Harry, I -” The way she says his name is almost as if she’s pleading, who knew a name could be said with such regret. He doesn’t look up at her upon saying it, but she can see the trails of tears rolling off his cheeks. Whether it be the betrayal of ignoring his order to stay behind, his missing girlfriend or both, there is no fight here. She merely has to accept whatever karma dishes out, even if that means the temporary loss of her best friend too.

The silence is deafening, and it only intensifies the gravity of her actions.

“Harry, I’m sorry” she manages to croak through her constricting throat. She’s crying now too, but doing her best to hold back intermittent sobs.

Finally, his eyes glaze over her, bloodshot green, swimming dilated vessels pooled with simmering tears. Droplets of sheer agony yet to fall, threatening to spill over his cheeks and leave behind a trail of painful destruction.

“Just tell me why?” he mutters with resignation, his detachment is disheartening and it hurts her all the more.

“I don’t have an explanation good enough to tell you why." Hermione considers pacing to avoid his questioning gaze.

“You’re telling me it never crossed your mind that this was a huge risk?” His forehead wrinkles as his eyebrows furrow, his face laced with frustration. He stands curtly, pacing the end of her bed, each step making the weight of his woes fall heavier. “Did you ever step back and think _maybe_ I should leave this one up to Harry? Did it ever occur to you that just this once, things had to be this way for a _reason_?”

Hermione trembles in response to his distress, not having a clear answer for him, which she’s knows is sure to aggravate him more.

“Yes, and No.”

“What the fuck do you mean, yes _and_ no? What kind of answer is that, Hermione? You’re making it really hard for me to stay calm when in hindsight I want to -”

“- You want to what? Look Harry, we are a _team_! The three of us and you took away my choice. You made the decision to deny not only me, who has been by your side since we entered the magical world, but you also excluded Ginny. We are fighters, Harry, and stubborn Gryffindors at that. Can you honestly say you believed we would sit this one out and wait for you to come home?”

“Yes I did, Hermione, because I trust - I trusted you. Ginny is younger, you’re supposed to know better. You’re Hermione Jean Granger! You’re not supposed to be reckless!”

“I am a _Gryffindor_! Hastiness is in my nature, as it is yours! You can’t _ever_ expect that I’ll sit by at any time and watch my friends do something life-risking without me by their side; if not to protect them, die alongside them, Harry. I can’t and I _won’t_ , so screw you for asking that of me!”

The silence is back, ricocheting off them like deflected bullets failing to penetrate the heated debate. Harry sits in the chair at the end of her bed again, his head falling into his hands, rubbing the displayed anguish on his face with his fingertips. Hermione’s chest is heaving, the strain of their argument taking it’s toll on her being. She pauses, at war with herself once again; her past versus present colliding, causing havoc in her system in the form of what she knows is the right thing to say and what she wants to say.   
  
“Harry, I should have thought twice...thrice. But you shouldn’t have forced us to stay. Now, we could go on arguing or we can start implementing a way to figure out where she is and get her back. It’s not your fault, Harry. I take full responsibility for my actions. Let me help.”

“I agree,” he removes his face from his hands to stare at her, his skin as pale as a ghost. “But as much as it pains me to say this, we have to prioritise the welfare of the people we have here. Ron is in a bad shape, we need more medical supplies and I need to give everyone the run down and decide how to proceed. If this is as bad as I think it is, then there’s really no other way. I have to give orders to kill.”

Unsure of what to say and scared to disagree, Hermione mutters the only question she can muster.

“Are you sure, Harry? Are you _really_ sure?”

Harry nods once in confirmation, pausing before shaking his head as if he's internally debating his thoughts.

“We can’t take prisoners, it’s too dangerous. It's kill or be killed.”

There it is. Words she fears most, kill or be killed; spoken like it's the only option they have for surviving. Having suffered so much loss already, anything to do with war and death is a not-so-sweet reminder of the sick game they are about to play. She sighs at the obvious - Harry knows it too. She almost resents Harry for the realisation, but the truth is, she understands. If things are really going to be as bad as they're predicting, than they need to be drastic too. If they need to go down this path, they can be smart about it.

Biting her lip, she puckers up the courage to voice her suggestion, the words escaping her lips with no hint of malice, which is surprising.

“If we set up a base away from here, we can take prisoners. It'll take some scouting and preparations but we can use this method to get information about Ginny. Just think about it some more, please. The situation is dire but it’s our only shot.”

Considering her words carefully, Harry gives Hermione a subtle nod of acceptance.

“I’ll think about it before I speak to the others.”

Relief floods Hermione, gushing from her wounds of betrayal like she’s broken free from restraints.

“Thank you,” she expresses sincerely before glancing at her feet in shame. “Do you think you can forgive me?”

Harry stares at her, leaving the pause between her question and his response long enough to make the fear for loss of friendship, residing in her, slowly creep up once more.

“Right now, I’m just really mad and disappointed in you - I don’t hate you, I just need some time.”

“I understand.”

Harry stands, his unsteady feet taking him to the tent door. Before exiting he stops briefly to deliver a message, keeping his back to her, implying no change of heart.

“Ron has been asking for you… He wants to see you.” His hands linger on the flap of the exit.

“Where is he?” asks Hermione at once, her previous feelings of rejection towards Ron dissipating as the tent doors billow in the wind.

As if he sensed the change in her, Harry drops his head over his shoulder, still avoiding her gaze.

“In the tent for magical mishaps and severe injuries.”

“Okay,” affirms Hermione with a nod. “If you need anything, please ask. I know you need some time, but I’ll always be here for you, Harry.” Her lips tremble, almost pleading.

Harry drops his head over his shoulder. “I know, Hermione,” he murmurs in defeat as though he accepts her wanting to be there for him, but it'll never be enough. Not while Ginny is missing and Ron is injured.

He leaves her sitting on the side of the bed, contemplating their entire conversation on repeat, analysing _exactly_ how mad he is at her. Each time their conversation replays, she is left feeling more broken and dejected. These feelings cling to her like a dementor latching onto memories, removing them from the ones she treasures most, leaving her for dead. Dementors don't exactly kill you, but Hermione can argue the metaphor, a life worth living is one filled with precious memories to hold onto, a life without the friendships of those you love the most isn't living at all.

As mentally and physically draining as it is, she can't let herself fall into the bottomless pit of doubt as it'll only drive her insane and hurt all the more. Still, she can't help but continue arguing with herself on the decisions she's made in the past few hours.

Shaking her head, Hermione decides she needs to be strong, if not for Harry than for Ron. At least he needs her. Summoning her shoes, she slips them on before trudging through the pitch black campsite to find the tent he is resting in.   
  
The walk feels longer than the three minutes it took to get there, her feet aching from all the running shes done. On her arrival, Hermione doesn't delay entering the tent, knowing she can't avoid the inevitable.

 

* * *

 

Her heart sinks upon seeing him lying there, his face grimacing and contorting to reflect the pain of the injuries inflicted on him. Whatever hex Malfoy hit him with is a violent one at that, because she doesn't believe she's seen anything like it. The realisation daunts on her: this has to be a sick joke Malfoy’s playing. How dare he point his wand at her like that, then turn it on Ron and follow through with some dark, ungodly hex. How fucking dare he _imperius_ her! Ron was only trying to help and all she was trying to do was get to Ginny - to rescue _her_ , he had no right in doing that!

Tonight, Hermione has battled so many conflicting emotions: anger, resentment, fear, hate, pain, heartache. She's beginning to feel like she has a role in some dramatic muggle soap opera, her life a daily episode, played blatantly for the entertainment for others.

She must have been standing in his doorway for a while because her thoughts are disrupted by coughing and spluttering.

“Herm - Hermione, is that you?” Stutters Ron croakily, his breathing raspy and breathless.

Hermione wants to rush forward, to be by his side, but for some reason she is held back by her fear of being judged by the only other person she cares about.

“It's me,” she says dejectedly, her hands sliding up and down her arms to brush off the chill causing her skin to pimple, though it's mainly done for comfort than to ease the chilly air blowing into the tent. She raises her wand swiftly, and a quick swish of her wrist seals the door with ease, allowing heat to regenerate the room. Summoning courage from Godric-knows-where, Hermione walks towards him slowly, eyeing him cautiously to assess his wounds.  

“I thought it was you… I can smell your perfume,” admits Ron somewhat sheepishly.

Lighting the tent to see better, Hermione is in shock at the brutality of his injuries. Her bottom lip trembles as her eyes rake his bare chest… His bandages need changing, already soaked through with blood.

“Ron - what did he do to you?” She stutters intermittently between sobs. Rushing toward the trolley at his bedside she grabs a fresh pair of rubber gloves, pours ointment into a small steel bowl and starts placing bandage strips in it. Casing the trolley, she finds tongs, scissors and a knife. _I won't be needing those,_ she says to herself before stepping closer to him.

Gently, her fingers trace over the bandages on his chest, she wants to help take away his pain. Tearfully, she allows her shaky hands to peel back the materials covering him. His chest rattles as he coughs and shudders, trying to hold in the scream that is threatening to make its release.

“Hermione, you - you don't have to do that.”

She does. _Of course_ she does. He’s hurt because of _her_ \- because of _Malfoy_. She can't just let him suffer.

“I want to,” is all she can muster as she makes herself busy tending to him.

Once his bandages are removed, she sees the full extent of his injuries. His pale chest, once lined with muscular abs; his stomach, once a snail trail of ginger hair, is now covered in purple bruises. Bloody bubbles are raised under his skin, some weird looking mutation that is unheard of even to her. She can see by the rise and fall of his chest, that his short, breathless pants of his breathing means his heart is beating erratically. Some of the bubbles have changed in colour: a sickly yellow, and the disgusting smell clearly indicates infection.

“Is your whole body like this?” Her brittle pitch cracks fearfully.

“No, just my chest. It's where the hex was absorbed.” Weakly, he points to his heart, “straight through here.”

Hermione nods in understanding.

“On a scale of one to ten, how much does it hurt?”

“Infinity.”

Hermione looks like she's about to chastise him for using the word _infinity_ as a method of measurement before her common sense recognises what's really important - Ron is in excruciating pain and its her fault.

“Oh Ron, I'm - I'm so sorry!” She blubbered through sobs. She is now dipping a medical grade cloth in the bowl filled with a healing potion, carefully dabbing it over his chest.

He trembles under her touch, but not in a good way. She can tell by the sweat forming on his head that he's holding it in. Usually Ron's a whiner. The fact that he’s trying to put on a strong front around her only points out the seriousness of his injuries.

“You need help,” she says matter-of-factly.

“I know. We're a bit tied up with the supply and demand of medical maladies here.”

“I know that. Who’s seeing to you? Maybe I can help push things along,” insists Hermione thoughtfully, her face lifting slightly in hope.

Ron pauses as if reluctant to tell her. Of course, it’s obvious why.

“Romilda Vane.”

Hermione's eyebrows furrow, her lips pouting in unison. She’s hated the girl since she tried to poison Harry with a love potion that ended up affecting Ron. Of course he’d fall for something like cauldron cakes laced with a love potion - the boy is practically a walking fridge with an abyss for a stomach.

Sighing, she resorts to the obvious. “I'll speak with her, perhaps I can get a list and talk to Harry about plans on acquiring what's needed.”

“Hermione.” Says Ron flatly, causing her to stiffen as if she's waiting for the blow.

“What?” she demands incredulously.

“Don't you think you've done enough for one night?” He asks as if trying to reason with her, but she recognises the not-to-subtle hints and falls victim to the insecurities of her failures.

“No, not you too - Please, don't do _that_.”

“I'm not doing anything, just being honest is all.”

“I don't _want_ your honesty. I have to help, Ron. I _have_ to do something. I can't take back my mistakes but I can help make it right.”

While placing the last of the fresh gauze dressings over his chest she goes off on a tangent, expressing her true thoughts. “I can't sit here and watch you in pain, redressing your wounds as they worsen by the day… I can't wait around in hopes that Harry will miraculously forgive me while Ginny is missing. I can't -”

”Wait. What? Ginny is missing?”

“Ron, don't you remember? Did Harry not tell you?

“The last thing I remember is what real pain feels like. Harry hasn't told me bloody anything.”

_Of course he hasn't. He's almost in denial about it himself._

“Ron, I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault. Yeah, you went behind his back… But you _both_ did, Ginny included. She's my sister, being left out is not something she takes well. Of course I know you got her there. I blame you - but carrying on about it isn't going to help. The sooner I'm fixed, the sooner I can help _find_ her.”

“Why aren't you mad? You should be angry at me, you should be worried about her.”

"Just because I'm not screaming at you, doesn't mean I'm not worried about her. I am. I'm scared shitless. But I can't do anything like _this_ ,” he looks over his wounds, his eyebrows furrow at his lack of mobility. “Besides, this is Ginny we're talking about. More than half the camp is scared of her, she takes her training to the next level. It's like she becomes a different person. Whoever has her will get a shock dealing with her,” he chuckles amusedly, as if reminiscing a time Ginny has been difficult to handle.

His laugh is inappropriate at such a time - Hermione's reaction solidifies that, so he gets back to the point at hand.  

“If you want me to be mad, and you want to make it up to me, fine. Help _fix_ me. Heal me, ‘Mione, so I can get out of this fucking bed and do something to find her. If you can't, maybe I'll reevaluate.”

Ron’s reaction has caught her off guard. She expected ranting and raving - for him to be an emotional mess. Perhaps his injuries are so significant it's been somewhat of a wakeup call to him.

“I'll do whatever it takes,” she means _every_ word.

“I know you will, thanks. It's not safe out there for you. Or _anyone_ for that matter, so please, Hermione, whatever you have to do, be smart about it. I can't lose you, too.”

Ron’s hand reaches out to take hers, his fingers lacing between her own.

His raw honesty pierces her soul, as if he knows her heart doesn't belong to him. Truthfully, her heart belongs to _no-one_ , but the pang of guilt for wanting to leave him in the first place takes a backseat. With his severe injuries and Ginny missing, Hermione leaving him could be the final trigger to him falling apart. She can't risk that, not when he's so ill.

She nods, finding his attempt at giving advice uninspiring and weird. It's unbelievable how he is taking the news and how easily he dismisses the danger in her wanting to help. Maybe he's doped up on that much medication he's not thinking straight. Either way, she's not going to wait around for him to change his mind.

“I'm not going behind Harry's back again. He'll let me go because I’ll not only persuade him, I'll plead him to let me.”

“He won't stand for it.”

Hermione stands abruptly, already feeling guilty for the anger she's feeling towards Ron.

“If I present him with a plan too good to pass up, he will. Now, if all you're going to do is remind me of my failure and tell me I can't do something, not only will I do it, I'll come out on top.”

Ron stares at her with pleading eyes. “That's not what I was saying.”

Briefly, he looks like he wants to make some sexually implied comment about her _coming out on top_ , but thankfully he refrains. Unable to stare into his eyes any longer, she turns, making way for the exit. She's done with this conversation, she needs an out before she says something she’ll regret.

“I'm going - I've got lots to organise.”

It was a poor excuse to leave so abruptly, but an honest one.

“Don’t be like that. Please Hermione, don't go yet. Stay - at least until I fall asleep.”

She stops in her tracks, his vulnerability sounding different with her back turned, and it triggers her guilt once more.

With a change of heart she murmurs, “I'll stay,” retracing her steps to his bedside.

She pulls up a chair, placing it close to his bed. His eyes are straining in the brightness of the light so he rests them for a minute. Hermione stares intently at him, wondering what thoughts are circling his mind. Whatever it is, the combination of pain, the light and his woes, his eyelids clench in response.

His hair is a bit of a mess, she leans forward aiming to brush the matted hair from his sticky forehead. At the feel of her touch his eyes fling open, finding hers. They meet each other's gaze, lust swirling in his, concern swimming in hers. With his hair brushed out of the way, her hand rests on his head while his fingertips tremble reaching for her face. Her close proximity makes it easier for him to reach her and she lingers there longer, almost as if waiting for his touch.

It would be rude for her to pull away now, and she doesn't have the strength to hurt him so she stays, his fingertips tracing her jawline before cupping her cheek. He guides her towards him, the desperation in his need to feel her lips more prominent than ever. He moistens his lips with a swipe of his tongue, his eyes dancing between her left and right. She feels light, like his eyes are a magnetic force drawing her to him and she can't look away. Maybe her guilt and his fragile state is her weakness. In fact, _yes_ \- it’s her kryptonite.

She feels powerless as her lips close on his. If this is the only way she can soothe his pain, if this is what it takes for her to forget her problems - even for a few seconds than it's worth it

Their lips collide softly and she takes care not to aggravate his injuries as they move in unison. He seems to be giving her the subtle exchange she needs, his lips melting into hers, his thumb gently wiping away the wet streaks of tears on her cheeks. The moment between them is far more intimate than she imagined it would be, having not felt tenderness like this for some time.

Hermione parts her lips, inviting his tongue in and he obliges with ease. Her fears and failures float away, causing her to melt into the freeing feeling as they work to soothe each other. How could she forget the mental and physical healing power of something as dispensable as a kiss. A kiss with a not-so-significant other whom she was ready to ditch just hours ago.  She’s been lying to herself, to think she doesn't want this. If he can make her forget with the simplicity of a kiss, than maybe she was wrong to deny herself of love - to deny _him_ what his heart aches for. It really is magical, a kiss like this. The kind that makes her question every decision she's made about their relationship; it affects her more than she ever thought it would. She no longer feels empty and alone… She feels warm, momentarily happy and at _peace._  She wants to stay in this moment, with no consequences of war, no pain… No more lies, no more denying. If this is what she's been missing than she’s ready for the fall. If he can make her feel so good like this than she was wrong to ever doubt their relationship.

It occurs to her that maybe she just _needs_ this, it doesn't befall to her that she's _using_ him for it. All that matters is that he can take away the bad, and if he keeps doing that, she decides then and there she’ll keep coming back until it runs out.

Eventually, they separate but her eyes remain closed, she's not ready to face him just yet. As if he senses her turmoil, he edges his nose tip to brush hers in an affectionate eskimo kiss before resting his forehead against hers. The move emits a long breath, sighing in a mix of relief and sadness.

The act leaves Hermione feeling confused as reality comes rushing to the surface again and she pulls away. She’s overwhelmed by the return of every bad feeling she had before the kiss melted it all away and she shamelessly blinks, breaking their connection.

Breathless, Ron wheezes, “Hermione, that was -”

“Don’t… Don’t ruin it.” She’s adamant, her pointer finger pressing over his lips to cease him from talking.

Ron only nods slightly in response, but she can tell he gets it. The tender act proves exhausting for him; his half-lidded eyes droop heavily with pending sleep. Hermione stays until he drifts off, his faint snores becoming louder each minute he dives deeper. He looks quite angelic when he's relaxed, and she finds peace in knowing he's painless and resting.  

There's something attractive about people exposing their vulnerabilities to her. Especially like this, when one is wounded, or even unintentionally as Malfoy had. Strangely, being unguarded in a world fighting a war is comforting. Even though they are surrounded by a desolate future in this sometimes hopeless war, the fact that people are still human enough to show that kind of openness is admirable. She only hopes she can give something more in return.

  
  
  



End file.
